


of resurrection, a grasped fistful

by havisham



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bi Bi Bucky, Identity Issues, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Denial and anger – those are two things Bucky Barnes has always excelled at.





	of resurrection, a grasped fistful

 

“I never believed you were dead, not for a minute,” Steve said, when they were finally alone together. Bucky still felt off -- like he was teetering over the edge of a cliff, and something about the tone of Steve’s voice, the way he cradled Bucky’s hands in his -- Jesus, he was so big now, it was like someone had taken the old Steve and blown him up, like those painted cut-outs they used to have on the boardwalk in Coney Island, the strong man and his curvaceous date. He had talked Steve into getting his picture taken with them, on a summer day that that was so hot that the ice cream cones he’d bought for them melted in his hands before ... 

Bucky’s mind was stuffed with a cascade of memories, remember, he remembered, he was the same even if Steve wasn’t, even if Hydra had wanted to... Bucky didn’t even know what they had wanted, in the end, only that he had been strapped to that gurney and helpless to stop them.

“Hey, hey, Buck, look at me,” Steve’s voice was the same, and his eyes, filled with concern, care, those were? the same too. Fuck, he was so weak with Steve. They were so weak with each other. Was it weakness? Bucky felt like there was a countdown happening somewhere far away, falling towards zero. 

No. 

Bucky was weak now and Steve was strong. 

It had begun to rain again, outside their tent -- Steve’s tent, which Bucky, naturally would share until he was given another one. Someone had laid out a change of clothes out on the cot that would be Bucky’s. 

“I’m beat,” Bucky said, not looking up to see Steve hovering anxiously above him. “We’ll talk -- tomorrow or something?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. He blinked, seemed to take stock of himself. “Of course. Whenever you want.” 

But later, accompanied by a groan of his cot, Steve rolled over and hissed at Bucky’s sleeping form, a blanket pulled tightly over his head. 

“Buck, why you gotta --” Steve sighed. “Don’t pretend I’m some kinda saint. You know I’m not.” 

Bucky considered saying nothing. He wasn’t asleep, of course. He rarely did sleep, or rarely was asleep, after Zola was done with him, though he sometimes had these hours where it felt as though he lost grasp of ordinary reality, slipped into a kind of stasis -- could this be what sleep was going to be for him now?

He let Steve squirm for a little bit before he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your new friends what a stubborn son of a bitch you are.” 

“They know.” 

“Even that pretty dame, what’s her name -- Agent Carter?” 

“Especially her. She helped me -- get you back. I’m grateful to her.” 

“Well now, Steve,” said Bucky in his best imitation of a radio-announcer, all empty heartiness, “nowadays you can show your gratitude in a myriad of exciting ways.” 

“Aw, shut up. I don’t know why I bother with you, I don’t.” 

“Don’t you, Rogers?” Bucky said, rolling over in his cot, pulling the blanket over his head as far as it would go. “I do.” 

Bucky waited until he could hear the deep, new rumble of Steve’s snores before he got up again.

The camp at night was quiet, but not empty. Bucky knew how to get around without being seen by any sentries, just like he had known how to sneak out of girls’ bedrooms and down the fire escape before their fathers or brothers knew any better. 

He wasn’t wandering without any aim, now, but to a certain dark corner that every camp this size had to have, a vaseline alley or something like it. There was only one guy waiting there, an officer, maybe a lieutenant, though nothing he wore would indicate his rank here. He caught sight of Bucky and smiled, more interested than otherwise. He was a big guy, clean-cut and handsome, and looked like he had gotten lost on the way to church. 

Bucky didn’t notice the color of his hair or eyes. Those things weren’t important, not here. 

“Got some cigarettes, fella?” 

Bucky had -- Steve didn’t smoke his and couldn’t give them away fast enough, and so had a lot stockpiled in his tent -- but he shook his head. 

“Want some, then?” 

“Depends on what’s on offer.” 

“A wiseguy, huh,” said the man, pulling Bucky toward him. 

“Cut the dialogue, fella, you ain’t good at it,” Bucky said, and grinned, challenging him to shut him up. 

He did. 

*

With a loose gait and his waistband even looser around his hips, Bucky lopped up back into Steve’s tent, whistling under his breath. Steve was still in bed, still rumbling softly under the covers. It wasn’t until Bucky was all tucked in himself when Steve turned toward him and asked, deadly earnest, “Buck, where’d you go?” 

“Was sellin’ my body to the Axis, bud, don’t tell anyone,” Bucky said and was asleep before Steve could question him further. 

*

The guy was Lt. Samuels, and he was the one charged with briefing them the day after. He didn’t seem fazed to see Bucky, he didn’t really see Bucky at all, tucked behind Steve’s massive bunk as he was. But just one time, they made eye contact and Lt. Samuels blushed under his healthy tan. 

Bucky winked. 

*

Private Lorraine was exactly the kind of girl that Bucky would’ve gone wild for, back in Brooklyn. She was pretty and she knew it, and even though she’d ignored Bucky’s presence in the reception almost the entire time he was there, waiting for Steve to finish up whatever he was doing with Agent Carter and Howard Stark, she had accidentally knocked some files over as he passed. Being the gentleman that he was, of course Bucky stopped to help pick them up. He didn’t notice that she’d slipped him a note until later, when Steve came rushing out of the lab, looking flustered. 

“Thanks for your help, Sergeant,” Private Lorraine said as they left. 

“Don’t mention it, miss -- er, I mean, Private,” Bucky said as he walked out the door, reaching in into his pockets to get a stick of gum. He felt a slip of paper in his pocket and pulled it open. It read: _Meet me outside the mess hall at noon on Sunday. Wear your smartest uniform and shave! - L._

Hell, thought Bucky. Might as well! 

*

Lorraine was where she said she would be, dressed to the nines in navy-blue dress and what could possibly have been silk stockings (or might have been artfully applied matches along her ankles) and looked over Bucky briefly before she nodded, and smiled. They went to a bar that was filled with Americans, both in uniform and out. Lorraine led him to a table filled with laughing girls and their dates -- they squeezed in to make room for both Bucky and Lorraine, but still they ended up half-on top of each other. 

“Who is he, Lorraine?” asked a sharp-cheeked redhead, who gave Bucky a once-over. “You look familiar,” she said to Bucky. 

“I know!” said a brunette with dimples on each cheek, “You’ve seen him in the newsreels -- you’re Captain America’s best friend, aren’t you?” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Bucky began to say before Lorraine interrupted him. 

“Now girls, I don’t want to be a pill, but we all know everything Sgt. Barnes does or says is by its nature very, very sensitive. I’d hate to see any of you get into trouble with Colonel Phillips because of some careless remark.” Lorraine graced them with a steely smile that was worthy of Agent Carter, and Bucky thought he could almost fall in love with her. 

“Loose lips and all that,” Bucky said, getting up without dislodging Lorraine. The band had struck up and was playing jaunty dance music. Bucky said to Lorraine, “Do you want to dance?” 

Lorraine sprang up and said brightly, “I thought you'd never ask!” 

They danced -- she knew her stuff, and Bucky wasn't so bad himself -- but every time he looked at her, he saw her looking back to the tight knot of women who were watching their every move. 

“You shouldn't care what they think,” Bucky said into her ear. 

Lorraine’s eyes widened for a moment before she smirked. “You don't know what you're talking about, soldier boy. I haven't cared about how people think of me for years. I'm not going to start now.” 

The lady protested too much. Bucky hated it when people yanked away his own little scraps of self-delusion, so he wasn't about to start doing the same for Lorraine. 

“Do you want to get some air?” he asked her. She was flushed from the dancing and nodded. 

Five minutes later, Bucky was bent down behind the wooden crates, with Lorraine’s blue dress over his head like the world’s smallest tent. Lorraine’s stomach was covered in goose flesh from the cold, but Bucky couldn't get himself distracted like that. He pulled her panties -- cute little things with embroidered roses in the front -- down a little further and took one long lick down the cleft of her sex. Above him, he heard Lorraine sigh and then felt her push his head down farther, urged him to go faster. 

So he did, tasting her folds and digging deeper. She tasted good, like salt and something that made his lips pucker in surprise, but want more and more of her. He could get lost in here, lost and hardly remembering to breathe except -- 

Lorraine was talking, shouting almost, and Bucky could hear the sharp whistles of the MPs. He didn't get up right away -- no need to ruin Lorraine’s dress -- but instead detangled himself from it and pulled her down. The whistles didn't seem to be coming closer, but they waited it out just to be sure. 

“I'm a jerk not for asking before, but what's your name? Lorraine’s your last name, right?” 

She considered him for a moment, her eyes feline-green and considering. “It's Mary-Ellen.” 

“Oh. Huh.” 

Lorraine -- Mary-Ellen? Nah it'd have to be Lorraine, he was used to it -- rolled her eyes. “I know what you're gonna say -- but Mary-Ellen's the name of a nice girl, what am I doing with it?”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Bucky said. “I think you're a very nice girl.” 

“Yeah, I'm fucking Saint Theresa,” Lorraine said, getting up and dusting off the knees of her dress. Bucky _liked_ this girl. 

They came out of the alley one at a time (but still a passerby gave Bucky a knowing look) and Bucky was not entirely surprised to see Steve parked in a Jeep outside the bar, looking around for him. “Change of plans, Buck,” Steve said as soon as he had seen him, coming through the crowd. 

“Yeah, I figured my luck couldn't last. Mary-Ellen, you want us to give you a ride back to HQ?” Bucky noticed that both Lorraine and Steve were looking at pretty much everywhere but at each other. There was probably a story there, but Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to find out what it was. 

Lorraine declined their offer, saying her boardinghouse was close to there. She gave Bucky a quick peck on the cheeks and he promised to see her the next time he was in town. She agreed, with a smile. It was abundantly clear they wouldn't see each other again, after the byes and goodbyes and see-yous. 

Steve was quiet on the drive to their rendezvous point with the other Commandos, only saying, as they drove down the road, “So. You and Private Lorraine, huh? Cute!” 

“I don't know, I think our kids might be a little too -- you know, around the eyes?”

“You thought that far ahead, Buck?” Steve was smiling but it was a weird smile, tight and insincere. 

“Nope, it took me a few seconds to think that up,” Bucky said, leaning back against his seat. “I'm pretty quick on my feet.” 

“A mind’s a terrible thing to waste,” Steve mused. He glanced at Buck who grimaced at him. A little more comfortably, he said, “We’re almost there.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been knocking around in my WIP folder for a long time -- I posted it last year, but fucked up the formatting and so had to take it down. I've contemplated bringing it forward to the post-Winter Soldier timeline, but I'm not sure if it's something people would want to read. 
> 
> ... I definitely would want to throw in a bit with Bucky and Dotty being too-perfect (and loving~) American couple who murder an entire train full of people for plot reasons, but that is just me. All me. Good night. 
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, sorry, the title is from [Ted Hughes](http://emilyspoetryblog.com/thistles-poem-by-ted-hughes/).)


End file.
